Silver to Steel
by Kasan Soulblade
Summary: A half elf, more human then elf, his eyes gleamed silver when they gazed upon hope, but when he closed them and looked upon the real world, they were hardened to ice colored steel. Botta fic


_Botta fic based off the song I heard, since I can't find the artist to give credit I'm offering the song itself. In the closing… as well as a chapter segment and some notes… So here's Botta's story, like Tylor's pre-game story, the Kharlan War fic, and Sheena and Corrine's story, this will be a slow update. I'll work on it when I can. Can you tell I like Botta?_

Chapter one, introduction:

Point of law

She was… beautiful… Her hair was gold, her eyes the color of sky. He sighed, her brilliance, perfection, burned into his eyes with only a mere glance. He let loose the smallest of branches he'd pushed aside to spare a glimpse of her while she walked to church today. Aching with the irony, the bitter irony and the glance he'd stolen, he leaned against the knot in the tree, the branches no longer being pushed apart by his shaking hands slid together, once more served as a screen of her perfection from eyes.

Strange as it sounded to the outsider… in Ozette one could lean against knots that thrust out of the winding branches like misshaped backs of seat less chairs. The only thing that blocked the view of the other branches or… what did outsiders call them? Lower roads, a freeway? That was what the non-Ozetteians called the massive network of branches which the people of the forest walked across to go from place to place in the Tree. It was foolishness; of course, all in Ozette knew the foolishness of outsiders. Roads were made of earth, dusty patches of ground, smoothed by hoof and wheel of a wagon. Branches –no matter their size- were wood, they wound around, some went straight, and others dipped and wove… some were slick, others rough, all were alive. Some more then others, but they all were alive. The tree paths that were on the most outer edges of Ozette sported a multitude of tiny green shoots, giving the illusion of grass, and he wondered for the hundredth time what grass really looked like. He could climb down to see…

But if he left he'd never be allowed to come back, he knew that in his heart, the guards who knew him, who saw him every day of their –and his- life would "forget" who he was, and he'd never be allowed to come back…

He sighed, ran a hand through his black spiky locks, let his silver eyes slide shut, it wasn't fair, but then life never was fair.

_Not for a half elf, not for anyone, I've just got a slightly harder hand to work with then everyone else_.

"Hey, big butt, get off that damned halfie ass and get back to work!"

Botta gritted his teeth, pushed down on the urge to punch the human heckler; he hated it when they called him that damned name. He growled, a small lapse of temper, and let his eyes settle on the man. Wearing a leather apron, squat, bearded, red hairs flecked with grey… huh… it'd be the shopkeeper then.

"I don't work for you." Botta snapped. "I work for your competitor."

"I just got a load."

Botta closed his eyes.

"I say you work for me, or I'll get the guards on you for loitering."

The unsaid hung in the air between them. A human's story would be taken over a half elf's any day, even if the human proposed that there were two suns and the second was invisible... If –by some miracle- Botta was believed, they'd fine him for causing a disturbance then quote some piece of Martelian writ at him… probably that line about idle hands being evil he heard it all the time anyways… So to purify his corrupted soul he'd then be forced to do the work.

He'd come out of I with a few more bruises then normal as the guards would whack him with their spears, maybe a few cuts if they were really pissed and cut at him with the fact they'd have to watch him work.

Closing his eyes Botta got to his feet, turned to face the man and bowed. He could not stand to see the man's smug pride, the satisfaction, the hate. He'd have met hate with hate had he seen it. So he kept his eyes close –a fact that really creped out the man who'd just stolen ever one of Botta's free hours actually let him smile just a little- and followed the human in front of him.

He didn't have a choice, because being forced, beat, purified, that was the best scenario. The worst was that the guards would look at him, see his pointed ears, hear the words problem, and draw their spears on him and plunge the steal weapons into his heart.

It was a law… all half elves convicted of any crime were to be executed. Those words had replaced the child's lullaby that should have been spoken over his crib, had darkened his silver eyes to a steel color when he thought of them, when he saw the gallows filled with those who had perhaps pick pocketed, or committed some other minor crime. He opened his eyes, his steel colored eyes; all thoughts of the golden haired beauty were gone, as was all hope.

He had no future save dull obedience, and he should resign himself to that fact. That was his destiny, his duty, and you must always follow duty, so said the write, so had said his father, and all the wise before him.

But if it was his duty, if it was his place, why resign to it? Why not rejoice, take some pleasure in despite the toil, there was hope that what he was doing was good, would lead to something beyond himself?

"Are you dumb? Not that it maters!" The man growled. "You're a big one, you can do the lifting on your own."

"Jakun isty carn."

"What was that?"

Botta smirked, the dull anger in his chest faded as he said those words that his father had taught him. He'd learned that phrase right before his father had joined the Desian Ranch a few miles north of Ozette. It was the only elvin that Botta knew, the only elven that his father had known. Like a good father his sire had taught him everything he'd known, then left him a note stating that he could go to the Ranch any time he wanted, he'd leave the door open for his ward to come in any time.

Good steady food, a chance to use his power, weapons' training, and revenge had been the offer, and he'd be damned if there weren't days it wasn't tempting.

"Lead on Mer", it's… in my father's tongue. He was an elf." Botta lied.

"Jakun isty carn? Carn's sir then?"

Botta nodded; bit his lip to keep from laughing. Though the words were faltering, the accent horrible, the meaning was unchanged.

As for what it meant, well Carn was the lightest of the swear words, and it meant "bastard".

"Carn… I like it." The human puffed out his chest. "From now on no Mer. crap, you call me Carn. Mer Carn Jarash to you pointie."

Botta nodded his head, for once he and the shopkeeper were in perfect agreement with each other.


End file.
